Poems of horror and rage

The following poems were written during my stay in Germany (september 2008-july 2009) and they mirror my moods and states of mind.
Potbelly
Windows hidden in walls-my eyes;

If you twist my neck and
make me see what I keep at my back
You won’t make me your prisoner.

Only my body is the pearl in the oyster
Trapped in the belly of her own mother

But that grain of sand had no choice
You-oyster mother sucked it inside you
Warm , the pleasure and delight , you thought
Can keep the pearl away from
Evading your suffocating universe
But one day the seaman
Will smash you into pieces
Only can the pearl shine on a golden necklace


A Handful of Sorrow
I sqeezed it, tossed it until
My heart gave birth to a pip
It was full of thorns that had been tearing it ceaselessly
But the pain did not subdue
Since the sole of your foot
Had pressed it deeper and deeper inside
Until the blood ran no more
And my heart became dry like a fig.


Rage
What is natural to me is unnatural to you
You can roll your eyes like two peanuts in a hollow box
You can stick your tongue like an anchor
Trying to drop it into the quick sands of my conscience
You can unroll a carpet and say:
‘This is your territory
Never cross its borders”
But you’d only be the master-slave of your vain ambitions.
You shove against a wall
Trying to grasp the scent of the elevated world.
You can hold my hand tight.
Still, my hands are greasy,
And my fingers slip slowly away
Because I killed your Moby Dick
With bare hands
There is no other world beyond us
You see only the shadows your imagination projects
On the wall of the cave.

Solitude on Train

(2nd episode)
The train runs far away
My soul gets ran over by its heavy wheels.
But my imagination picks up my corpse
And tries to heal it.
No use…
It had already died.
Falling through a door.
Into the abysmal infinity of solitude.
(1st episode)
The widows of the train are so dirty
I cannot look outside
I don’t know where it takes me
Instead I take a trip inside
To find a sunny face
Sitting near me. My companion
Oh, I remembered! I still have in my purse the tiny paper man
That I cut yesterday from the pages of NY Times
The shape of my own shadow
Resembling me in any way.
Silly, dumb, deaf
But I cut its mouth too wide.
It is smooth, teethless, breathless
I’ll whistle through it
My own megaphone.